John's Choice
by Vest and Bow Tie
Summary: Dangling amongst the stars, Thunderbird 5 hangs in space. Locked in geostationary orbit is a scary place when no-one will talk to you. Rating changed for Chapter 8 - Violence
1. Chapter 1

John Tracy's blue eyes were reflected and distorted in the bronze coloured grille that covered the radio speaker. This radio was permanently tuned to one single frequency; the frequency used only by International Rescue. John looked across at the rest of the bank of radios and speakers and tuned into the wash of voices briefly. Living on the station for a month at a time, John learned to deal with the constant voices. He learned to tune them out, or to single out a single voice amongst the cacophony. So John was well aware that the radio that connected him to International Rescue was silent. The only people who knew his location in orbit were not talking to him.

This happened occasionally, when the world was silent and there were no rescues to be co-ordinated. It was easy enough for John's family to simply forget about him, 36 000 kilometres above the earth. But this was different. These last few days usually followed a very strict protocol. John's stint on Thunderbird 5 was coming to an end. Usually, that meant a flurry of communication between John and International Rescue as they made preparations to launch Thunderbird 3. Launching a vehicle into orbit was a precise procedure. Slight variations in the exact position of Thunderbird 5 would mean huge differences in the process of launching Thunderbird 3; a process which would take a few hours if done perfectly and two days if not.

But for the last few days, only silence from International Rescue. John was a careful soul. He had to be, living alone on a station in orbit 36 000 kilometres above the earth, hours away from any assistance, even from Thunderbird 3, and that was assuming a perfect launch. So whenever he went more than a few daylight hours without contact from Tracy Island, he performed an EVA and checked on the antenna to make sure there was no external damage. Then he ran diagnostic software, designed to root out any flaws in the computer system. Finally, he would manually test the physical electronics. He would open up a panel and use a multimeter on each wire and check the reading against his monstrous reference book. Every time this had happened before, Jeff usually contacted John as he was in the middle of testing the wires manually.

Not this time however. John had run all three diagnostic methods on the radio. The worst part was, they all came up clean. Thunderbird 5 was in perfect working order. The logical next step was what started to concern John. That meant Tracy Island _wasn't broadcasting._ John cycled through the radios, checking each one in turn by muting all the others. Thankfully, none of the voices needed rescuing. Worryingly though, none of the voices belonged to his brothers or his father. John's concern was growing, and had been since he had realised the radio was silent. Sure, maybe there had been a catastrophic failure with the transmission tower on Tracy Island. But that wouldn't stop Jeff from flying to the mainland and making radio call from there. John had executed the radio sweep several times, after running the diagnostics and each time, the same result.

John turned all the voices back on and walked over to his microphone. He keyed the button to broadcast. He knew that pressing the button would set off the lights behind the eyes of his portrait in the lounge of Tracy Island and a loud tone over all the radios in the villa. Yet no-one responded. John had pressed the button every hour for the last two days. A wave of tiredness crashed over John and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. There was no way to automate the broadcast; John had been awake for the last 48 hours. John made a mental note to tell Brains about the oversight. An uncomfortable though wound its way through John's mind, and his stomach curled slightly.

_If I ever see Brains again…_

John immediately stamped out the thought. International Rescue would come for him. There were any number of reasons that would delay or restrict a broadcast. There had been an issue with imposters several months ago which had caused Jeff to suspend all International Rescue services and communications – temporarily. A similar situation could have arisen, or atrocious weather could have damaged the transmission tower and simultaneously prevented Jeff from flying to the mainland.

But now that the thought had wormed its way into John's mind, he couldn't remove it. It sat with him uncomfortably as he walked into the living area of the space station. He paced slowly, thinking hard, trying, and by the mere effort failing, to convince himself that his colleagues, his _family, _would contact him any second. He approached the computer monitor, one of the many strewn around the station. John brought up the timeline and supply manifest for his stay on Thunderbird 5. He was scheduled to be in space for 28 days, not including flight time on Thunderbird 3. He had supplies for 35 days, which would encompass a non-perfect launch of Thunderbird 3 and still have 5 days spare. Today was his 27th day in space.

That meant Thunderbird 3 had to be launched sometime in the next 5 days in order to reach John before his supplies ran out. 5 days of sitting and waiting for International Rescue to communicate. John shook his head to clear it. His family would come. He trudged toward his sleeping quarters. He knew that he was pushing his boundaries staying awake as long as he had. He would sleep for a few hours to clear his head. The computer would wake him if something came up. John sincerely hoped it did.


	2. Chapter 2

Fair warning - Strong Language

But you can probably already see that from here.

* * *

John did not swear. He considered it unprofessional and discourteous.

"Shit!"

John clenched his hands into fists, and slammed them on the console.

"… I repeat, if anyone can her us, please, respond!"

The computer had woken John a few minutes ago. He had slept for longer than he had meant to; it was now well into his 28th day on the station. The voice at the other end of the call was young, male and terrified.

"We're trapped! The building just came down on us!"

When John indicated to the computer that he was co-ordinating a rescue, all frequencies except for that of the rescue call and International Rescue were muted. But by the silence coming from Tracy Island, that radio might as well have been muted as well. A light flashed on the screen, indicating that another call was coming from the same area as the first. John flipped the switch, and another voice started to speak.

"… Some kind of explosion, a huge bang, and a whoosh, and then we were surrounded by darkness!"

John winced. He didn't go on many rescues, but one that he had been on was recovering people trapped beneath a collapsed building. Memories of that horrific experience flooded John. Without International Rescue, many more people would have remained trapped, never to be found under the rubble.

"Please, I'm scared… my kids… Help us!"

John jammed his eyes shut, but he couldn't block out the image of a family, huddled together in the dark and the dust, praying that they would be saved. He keyed the button to broadcast to Tracy Island, although that was the first thing he had done when he had woken, and again, no response. Another light started flashing on the screen. A different light this time, a frequency which the computer recognised. That meant whoever was at the end of this radio had called Thunderbird 5 before. Reluctantly, John flipped the switch to let the voice speak.

"… This is Emergency Response Unit 243 calling International Rescue. Thunderbirds, if you're up there, we need help."

John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and then switched on his microphone.

"Thunderbird 5 reading you loud and clear. Go ahead ERU 243."

The Emergency Response Units were the government's response to International Rescue. As much as everyone, everywhere appreciated the help of the Thunderbirds, it was embarrassing for a nation's leadership to have to admit that a family of individuals had done what government funded public services – the Fire Brigade, Police and Ambulance Corps – could not do.

John remembered when the ERUs had been announced. He had watched their training and development closely, keeping his Father up to date. Jeff had been ecstatic, though of course in his stoic, authoritarian way.

"This will create a world where the Thunderbirds are no longer needed."

Alan had taken some convincing.

"But Father, what happens to us?"

Jeff smiled, in that stern, fatherly way he had.

"What happens to us is not important. What is important is that the world is growing up. When the Governments no longer have to rely on us to rescue their citizens, that day will be the beginning of a new era."

Of course, no rescue organisation in the world was as advanced as International Rescue, so the Thunderbirds remained busy.

"Thunderbird 5, am I glad to hear your voice. I thought we were all alone for a moment."

John stared solemnly at his console. He fought off a rising sense of panic. Once more, hoping against hope, he keyed the button to talk to Tracy Island. Again no response.

"There are people trapped in the basement levels that we just can't get to. We need the Mole. How soon can we get her out here?"

John swallowed. He checked the source location of the calls. Thunderbird 1 would take about half an hour to reach the city; Thunderbird 2 would take just under an hour. His breath hitched as he did something he never thought that he would, and was deeply ashamed that he could.

"Thunderbird One will be with you in just under thirty minutes, and Thunderbird Two will be about 28 minutes behind."

John stood back from the console and ran one hand through his bleach-blonde hair. The horror of what he had just done to sunk in slowly. International Rescue was the absolute last resort, the final fall-back when you had no other hope. But International Rescue _always_ came through, they_ always_ won. There was _always_ hope. But for these people, there was no hope. They were relying on rescue equipment that was never coming. John swore again. The damage to International Rescue's reputation would be irreparable. Who would call an organisation that _lied _about coming to save you?

John seethed internally, though he knew there was nothing he could have done differently.

_You didn't have to lie..._

John was on the verge of tears. He needed something, anything else to take his mind off the people trapped under the building. To take his mind off what he had done.

John muted all the radios, and brought up a list on the computer. Every radio that was broadcasting was on this list. The frequency that John was most interested in was coming from Cape Canaveral. The Kennedy Space Centre was preparing to launch a manned mission to the Moon. Once the Americans had won the space-race against the Soviets and later the Russian Federation, travel to the moon halted. Now, however, missions were being set up to explore the option of mining the moon for its resources. Iron and Titanium were found to be present in high abundance in samples recovered from the lunar surface. With these minerals being in high demand on earth, mining the moon seemed like an efficient option. This program was being called Demeter, after the Greek Goddess of harvest.

John pressed a button, and the internal communications of Kennedy Space Centre emanated from the speakers. John walked into the dining area of the station, listening to the radio. At this stage, Demeter III would be to launch in four days. John had been watching the preparations for this launch out of an interest in space industry, but now he realised, that rocket could be his only chance of getting home.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys. So, uhhh, if it looks like retcon and smells like retcon, it's definitely retcon. Hope you enjoy anyway XD**

**Edited because I was too lazy to proof-read before posting.**

* * *

The ERU called back after half an hour. John ignored the flashing light on the screen. The light stopped flashing after a while.

John slept fitfully that night, torture. His guilt chased him around and around in his dreams.

_You lied. People are dead now!_

_That's not my fault. They were going to die, it didn't matter what I said. _

_You should have done more!_

_What more could be done? I gave them hope, what else can be expected from me? _

_And what now, of the future? What happens to the Thunderbirds?_

_We try to earn back the world's trust. We prove ourselves again. _

_And what of you? How will you earn back your brothers' trust, your father's?_

_This was not my fault! What should I have done, told the ERU that no-one was coming to help! _

The argument was pointless, circling through his head, over and over.

* * *

Eventually, he woke.

Day 29.

6 days of supplies left.

John opened up the list of frequencies catalogued by Thunderbird 5. Certain people and organisations had different frequencies, or bands of frequencies, that they reserved. The Thunderbirds, and their global agents, were people like this. John scanned the list of names. The Thunderbirds employed a wide range of individuals, placed within a variety of organisations. However, none of them had anywhere near the technology necessary to reach John on Thunderbird 5. Even Lady Penelope, the most public figure amongst the Thunderbird's agents, would not have the influence to be able to save him.

There was always the chance that one of these agents could contact Tracy Island, the only problem was that the agents communicated with the rest of International Rescue via Thunderbird 5. The agents all used conventional radios, with a range of only about 20 kilometres. Only through the considerable detection range of Thunderbird 5's scanners were their radios any use for communicating with International Rescue. So there was no way any of the agents could radio Tracy Island.

What about physically going and telling Jeff Tracy that his son was alone and abandoned up in Thunderbird 5? Also not viable. The Thunderbirds vehicles often took wide, circular routes home from missions, to avoid being followed. At the speeds of Thunderbird 1 and 2, this circular flight path added only about half an hour to the trip home from a rescue. For a conventional aircraft, the flight would be hours longer. While some of the agents had their own airplanes, and Lady Penelope even had her own private jet, none had the range to be able to fly the evasive path to the Island.

John switched on a radio and tuned it to a commercial station. He let the sounds of normal life wash over him and tried to forget what was happening to him. He couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his stomach though, so after a while he switched the radio over to the Kennedy Space Centre at Cape Canaveral. The spacecraft was being loaded. At the moment, food was being loaded on. All throughout the day, more and different equipment and supplies were being loaded. Tomorrow, the rocket would be rolled out to the launch pad and the fuel would be pumped into the tanks. Fuel was the last thing to be added, as it had to be kept well below freezing temperature.

_So far, so good. Still have a backup. But where the hell is Thunderbird 3?_

* * *

John moved into the radio module, floating. He had turned the gravity off. John loved floating in the microgravity, it relaxed him. Now, though, his nerves were not so easily appeased. He had slept fitfully again, still tortured. He had dreamt while he slept. Short flashes of his father's face, and the faces of his brothers. They looked up at him, varying from Scott's confused frown to Alan's youthful disappointment and betrayal. John felt betrayed himself. Scott and Alan had the gall to be disappointed in him? Where were they now? Why had they not come? John frowned. He keyed the button to broadcast out of habit, but nothing happened. Suddenly, John couldn't contain himself.

"Damnit, where are you!"

John looked about himself, shocked. He was not given to outbursts of anger. His heart was beating incredibly fast. John breathed in and out slowly, calming himself and returning his heart to a normal rate. The edges of panic kept creeping in on John, and he struggled to suppress another shout.

The lights on the station glowed orange and an alarm started blaring. John, grateful for the distraction, floated over to the computer monitor. He oriented his feet to the floor and turned the gravity back on. As much fun as microgravity was, normal gravity was far more practical. John felt his stomach sink and his whole body tense as Thunderbird 5 slowly took hold of him and dragged him to the floor.

John keyed a button and the alarm stopped blaring, though the lights still glowed orange, casting an eerie glow over the station. John brought the cause of the alarm up on the screen. It was the proximity sensors. They displayed a three dimensional space for hundreds of kilometres around Thunderbird 5. Anything that moved in this space was flagged and tracked by the computer, and anything that moved too fast or too close to Thunderbird 5 would trigger a warning.

The current readout showed a blip moving through the space with an incredible velocity. Worse, it would pass within a few kilometres of Thunderbird 5. Within visual detection range, and well within range of any sensors the blip might have on board. Of course, the blip might not have been a ship. It could well be a new missile that a government was testing. John had not been monitoring the channels that usually discussed tests like these. If it was, then likely it would either detonate well before it got to Thunderbird 5, or it would change course and head back into atmosphere.

John watched the blip as it moved closer and closer. The speed of the blip, whatever it was, was phenomenal. It was almost fast enough to rival Thunderbird 3. John's hear leapt. Finally, Thunderbird 3, come to take him home. A rush of guilt passed over John as he thought about how he would explain the last few days to his family. Another rush passed through John, something darker this time. He tried to quell it, but he couldn't. How would his family explain the last few days to him?

The blip dropped its speed slightly, then suddenly accelerated, increasing its speed hugely. John was struck by doubt. The drop then surge. Single-stage-to-orbit craft like Thunderbird 3 didn't experience that. Conventional multi-stage rockets did though, when they decoupled an exhausted stage and fired up the next stage. John brought up the blip's flight path. It launched from somewhere in China, nowhere near Tracy Island out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

_And besides, _John realised, _Thunderbird 3 wouldn't activate the proximity warning. Thunderbird 5 would have alerted me, but not with the proximity alarm._

So if the blip was not Thunderbird 3, what was it? John's skin crawled.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry this took so long, school has been mental. It's gonna be a while before the next chapter. In the meantime, enjoy XD**

* * *

The blip drew ever closer. John again brought up the flight path of the ship. The ship had launched from southern China, a remote area surrounded by mountains, and only a few hours ago. John brought up the co-ordinates of the launch site. They looked familiar. John brought up another window on the monitor and called up the co-ordinates of the Jiuquan Satellite Launch Centre. They matched almost perfectly with the launch site of the blip. John was puzzled. He followed all government space programs closely, like the American Demeter program. John didn't remember the Chinese having any launches scheduled. The Chinese were notoriously secretive about their space program, but John had ears everywhere.

John pulled a document up onto the monitor; the launch schedule that he had put together, listening to various radios. He scrolled through, looking for today's date. As he got closer, he saw the Demeter unmanned probe pre-cursor program, then the first exploratory launches, not so different from the Apollo program, all those years ago. The heavy lifters appeared, bringing the equipment and facilities to the moon. The current generation of the Demeter spacecraft appeared. These were huge, heavy beasts, designed as they were to take all the crew and necessary supplies to staff a mining operation on the moon.

John flicked to the next page, and the date of Demeter III's launch appeared on the screen, two days from now. John swiped back down, and found that the last launch was a European Space Agency resupply mission to the second International Space Station, over a week ago. John remembered following that launch, it was flawless. John had teased Alan about the launch. Alan had done a tour aboard the ISS2; he had piloted the crew capsule on the way up, and made a minor error in reaching orbit. He was a few fractions of a degree off the perfect orbit, and the crew of that mission had had to take the two day path to the station, rather than the few hour path.

The alarm once again started to blare, with an increased intensity. John felt the edges of panic creeping in. This alarm had a different sound. This was no longer the proximity alarm, this was the collision alarm. John closed the launch schedule document and flicked back to the three dimensional map of nearby space. Thunderbird 5's computer had updated the flight path of the blip. It was going to pass within 200 meters of Thunderbird 5. Given the tolerance of space flight, that was way too close for comfort.

John took a couple of steps and stood in front of the radio transmitter. He muted all the channels that were currently switched on, and tuned into the frequency that the Jiuquan Satellite Launch Centre usually used. Nothing. John frowned, disappointed. He had hoped to communicate with the Chinese space centre, to ask them to redirect their spacecraft away from Thunderbird 5.

John realised that if the Chinese hadn't told anyone about their launch, they would hardly want anyone listening to any radio communication between such a spacecraft and the space centre. John set the radio to scan through all the frequencies. Radio signals could be disguised, encoded even, but not hidden. When the scanner detected transmission on a frequency, it stopped, playing the frequency and waited for action from John. It was a slow process, but there was really nothing else John could do. He knew that if the blip was a manned spacecraft, the Chinese would be communicating with it. If it was unmanned, then there was nothing John could do about it.

The radio found a frequency with chatter on it. The chatter was in a European language, so John indicated to the computer to keep searching. John was struck with a worrying thought. International Rescue chose this particular altitude, longitude and latitude above earth for Thunderbird 5's orbit. The reason for this choice had been that it was as far as was reasonably possible from all other orbiting stations and satellites while being within effective communication range. It was entirely possible that the Chinese had realised this as well, and wanted to place a secret military satellite in the same orbit as Thunderbird 5. The Chinese would not know that Thunderbird 5 was right where they planned to orbit. The radio found another channel that was broadcasting. What played through the speaker was just garbled static. Angrily, John swiped the screen, and the radio kept scanning.

There were contingencies for situations such as this. Thunderbird 5 could reorient or even adjust its orbit slightly, but this was a highly problematic process. Usually, Jeff, John and Brains would communicate to make sure that the maneuverer was as precise as possible. John squeezed his eyelids shut and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The computer started playing the next radio signal, an African language this time. John took a deep breath, placed his hands on the edge of the console. John swiped, and the computer kept searching. As John swiped, there was a brief surge of static.

_Static. _

The panic receded, and John's mind was crystal clear.

_The static signal. Of course!_

John cursed himself for not realising sooner. The radio signal used by the Chinese would be encoded. Such encoding would be designed to make any accidental discoverer of the signal ignore it. What better way than to disguise the signal as static. John tuned to the static frequency and turned the volume up high. The static pulsed and swelled, with pauses of inactivity. The pulses occurred with an almost random frequency and regularity. John listened closer, and realised that the pulses were occurring with the cadence of speech.

John flipped to the three dimensional radar. The computer had updated the Chinese spacecraft's path and, indeed, the craft was predicted to hang in orbit almost exactly where Thunderbird 5 was. The nearest intercept between the two craft was down to under 100 meters, and getting less as the Chinese craft adjusted its path to stabilise its orbit. As John watched, the Chinese craft's nearest intercept dropped to 0; a collision course with Thunderbird 5. A timer popped up onto the screen. Three minutes. John felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple, despite the cold.

John brought up another program on his monitor – software for decoding radio signals – and started to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys. Sorry for the delay, school and stuff. You either know, will know or have known how it is XD. Hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

A bead of sweat collected on John's brow, threatening to roll into his eye. He swept his hand across his forehead and the drop of moisture flew through the microgravity, sucked into a vent. John concentrated fiercely on the screen. The Chinese were using a complex encryption for their radio signal. This told John two things. Firstly, that the Chinese were not going to be pleased when John decoded it, and secondly that this craft was obviously highly secret. The Chinese were not going to be pleased that John had found their craft, and that they would have to choose another orbit in which to place it. In general, the Chinese were not going to be pleased.

John had a lot of experience decoding signals. Many rescues had called for secure communication with various military and intelligence organisations. However this was an encryption he had not come across before. He started by passing the signal through a few standard Chinese decryptions. The first had no effect, and the second only modified the volume. John noted this, and tried the next. This one clarified the signal slightly. It removed a lot of the static from the spaces between the pulses that John new to be words. However, the words themselves remained unclear.

John passed this partially decrypted signal through the second decryption program, and noticed that again, only the volume changed. He discarded this change and reverted to the previous signal. John flipped momentarily to the scanner screen and noted the time. Two and a half minutes until collision.

It was critical that John decode this signal. John could communicate with the Chinese ground crew at Jiuquan without hacking the signal. However, he would likely only be able to talk to a low level radio operator, as the members of the Chinese space program with any authority would likely be concentrating on this flight. Even if John could convince the radio operator to connect John to a flight director – and with John speaking broken Mandarin, this would be no easy task – it would take far too long, and there was no guarantee the flight director would take any notice of John.

John had to hack the Chinese signal to communicate directly with the astronauts inside the Chinese craft. This act in itself, John hoped, would prove his validity, and not that he was simply a member of the American government trying to put a halt to the Chinese space program.

John flipped back to his decoding programs and looked at the last decryption program he had used. It was a modern Chinese method, and drew its roots from earlier Soviet codes, and before that, from the source of all contemporary code making – the German Enigma. John did a quick search of his archives and found that he only had one Soviet decryption program, and made to encrypt/decrypt a totally different family of code.

John felt his heart beat in his chest.

_Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump_

John was faced with the very real possibility that he may die.

120 seconds until impact.

John's hands were shaking, and his thoughts were racing around in his head. Several plans were considered and discarded; bailing out of an airlock in and EVA suit; explosively decompressing sections of Thunderbird 5 to shunt the station out of orbit; even remotely taking control of the Chinese craft and guiding it to another orbit.

All of these were contingencies that John had trained for, and could execute, but each of them expected that he would be in communication with Brains, and that Thunderbird 3 would have already been launched. They were too dangerous to attempt without backup.

So John turned back to his console.

100 seconds until impact.

John looked again at the lineage of the Chinese code.

90 seconds

The inclusion of the German enigma machine gave John an idea.

80 seconds.

John pulled up another window. He had a deep seeded fascination for technology, and the invention, development and eventual cracking of the enigma code was a process that he had researched intensely. John had an emulator of the original 'Turing Machine,' the first modern computer, developed by Alan Turing in the Second World War with the express purpose of cracking the enigma code. The program, simulating ancient technology, took a few seconds to warm up.

70 seconds.

John took a deep breath. Last chance. The program was intended for a keyboard input, a simple text based system, and relied on having a key. John's fingers flew feverishly across his keyboard, writing a simple script of code that interpreted the radio signal and dumped it as text into the emulator, and that also.

60 seconds.

John slammed his finger down onto the enter key. Text appeared in the input field of the emulator, and its apparent decoding appeared, nonsensical and as yet still encrypted.

John fiddled with the settings of his emulator, set it to run at the maximum speed it could muster. Using Thunderbird 5's impressive supercomputer, the text appeared, translated (the emulator allowed for multi-lingual output to be translated to English) and decoded.

50 seconds.

Shocked, John read a few words, enough to know that his program had worked. He frantically opened up another program, an enigma emulator.

40 seconds.

He set the enigma settings the same as the 'Turning machine' emulator.

30 seconds.

John adapted his code so that his voice, picked up by the microphone, would be passed through the enigma.

20 seconds.

He wrote another quick script to pass this encoded signal through the Chinese encryption that he has first tried.

10 seconds.

John opened his mouth to speak, but it was too dry, and he had to swallow.

5 seconds

Speaking Mandarin, John barked into the mic, transmitting on the frequency of the Chinese communications.

"Thunderbird 5 to unidentified Chinese spacecraft, burn retrograde now to avoid collision!"

4 seconds.

3

2

1

0


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I hit a creative streak. posting this so soon kinda defeats the purpose of a cliffhanger. Oh well XD**

**Oh, and we are nearing the end of our journey together... I have just now decided how the story will end. Because writing with a plan is for the weak XD**

**Enjoy :)  
**

* * *

The text in the 'Turing Machine' emulator paused. The astronauts aboard the craft had stopped talking, shocked by John's transmission. Slowly, another line of text appeared.

_"__Thunderbird 5, we have received your message and have engaged RCS thrusters. We have approximated your position based on the source of your radio signal and we are adjusting our orbit to avoid collision."_

There was a pause, and John sobbed with relief. All of the muscles in his body, previously tensed, relaxed. John flicked the switch to turn off artificial gravity, allowing his muscles to relax even further. He let go of the console and floated freely. He spun slowly with respect to the console, so he was upside down by the time the next message from the Chinese station came through.

"_You gave us quite a shock, Thunderbird 5. We have a visual on you through our docking camera." _

John grasped the console and heaved himself around so that his feet were on the ground. He pushed his specially designed socks down onto the Velcro patches on the floor. This way, he would remain the right way up. He spoke into the microphone, in Mandarin.

"Thunderbird 5 to unidentified Chinese Spacecraft, recommend you make preparations for docking. Thunderbird 5 can accommodate whatever docking system you use."

An idea was beginning to seed in John's head. The Chinese mission was shot to hell. Vaguely John realised he had probably ruined months, if not years, of planning by the Chinese Space program, not to mention the billions of dollars they had probably spent. The craft would, in all likelihood, return to earth. If that happened, John intended to be on it.

New text appeared on John's screen.

_"__We're communicating with our ground control at present, Thunderbird 5. We will contact you again when we've finished and we'll see where we go from there."_

John could see this exchange between the Chinese astronauts and their ground crew.

_"__I thought this signal was supposed to be encrypted?"_

_"__It is, but this is International Rescue we're talking about. He was probably listening to us since you launched."_

_"__I don't think that's true, Jiuquan, or he would have asked us to modify our orbit sooner. We were only a few seconds away from collision."_

_"__Even so, there's no way to know how much he's heard. This mission is far too sensitive. No American can be allowed to know that this station exists. _

John's blood turned to ice. He knew that the Chinese mission was obviously secret, but that last phrase from the Chinese ground control was dangerously sinister.

_"__Surely, Jiuquan, we can trust International Rescue?"_

The text paused, and John waited impatiently for the reply.

_"__Afraid not, Wolf-Spider." _

Immediately, John's heart rate accelerated. _Wolf-Spider._ The name was aggressive, after one of the most dangerous and deadly spiders. A new surge of adrenaline fired through his veins. He reached down and switched the artificial gravity back on. This mission must be a project by the Chinese military, notorious for its ruthlessness. John was already moving before the gravity was at full power. If he had stayed, he would have seen the reply from _Wolf-Spider_.

_"__Jiuquan, are we to understand that you want us to enact the 'bad neighbours' protocol?"_

John dashed to his bedroom and scooped up his pink sash. From it, he pulled his custom International Rescue handgun. John's handgun was different from his brothers' in that his weapon had to work in microgravity, and even potentially in a vacuum.

_"__Wolf-Spider, you are cleared to use any and all force necessary to see that this mission remains secret."_

John ejected the clip to check the load. A full magazine of hollow point rounds with self-contained oxidiser. John also used different ammunition to the rest of his brothers. Hollow point rounds, while forbidden by international law, were the 'safest' ammunition to use in space. Other bullets passed straight through a human body. Chunks of metal flying faster than the speed of sound are not something you want on a delicate spacecraft. Hollow point rounds expanded on impact, meaning that they caused significant internal damage, and that the bullet stopped in the body, preserving the spacecraft, if not the target. The self-contained oxidiser meant the weapon could be fired in a vacuum.

_"__Understood Jiuquan."_

John shoved the handgun into the waistband of his uniform and rushed back to the console. He read over these last few messages. The latest one was directed at him:

_"__Thunderbird 5, we have been given the go-ahead to dock with you. We have sighted your universal docking port and will begin our approach."_

John frowned, concentrating. He had hoped the _Wolf-Spider_ would not have seen the docking port. It was located underneath the massive assembly that admitted the command centre of Thunderbird 3. Conventional spacecraft were much smaller than Thunderbird 3, and so it was easy to add a much smaller universal docking port to the station.

Brains had factored in an extra feature to this docking port. Brains assumed that any spacecraft that docked with Thunderbird 5 – with the exception of Thunderbird 3 – would be in trouble. Therefore, the docking adapter, once it detected that a spacecraft was safely moored, would automatically cycle the airlock and open the access hatch as quickly as it could. This was based on the idea that the faster the astronauts or cosmonauts of a damaged spacecraft could board Thunderbird 5, the better.

John knew this. He knew that if the _Wolf-Spider_ docked with Thunderbird 5, its astronauts would board Thunderbird 5, and they would try to kill him.

There was nothing John could do to avert this docking. Thunderbird 5 did not have any Reaction Control System, that is, a system for generating the torque necessary to move a spacecraft in space. Thunderbird 5 was inert, hanging in space.

John was not used to being threatened by people. For as long as he could remember, he always had an older brother to watch his back, and younger brothers to endear himself to people. John had never been in a fight. He did not know what he would do if he were forced to defend himself. He fingered his handgun. He knew how to use a gun. He had trained with various firearms on Tracy Island, and was technically competent, though he held the lowest score on the family shooting range.

The gun felt incredibly heavy. John was always surprised by how heavy his weapon was. That was why he had not been wearing his coloured sash, he preferred to not have the gun pulling against his shoulder the whole day. John placed the gun on the console and looked at the screen.

_"__We have aligned ourselves with your docking port and are ready for final approach."_

John spoke into the microphone, in Mandarin,

"Affirmative, _Wolf-Spider,_ approach and the docking port will automatically begin docking procedures."

_"__So you have been listening to us. Sorry, Thunderbird 5."_


	7. Chapter 7

John's brain clicked into action mode. He was about to be boarded by hostile forces. John picked up his handgun and racked the slide. He put it gently back down on the console. John looked at the screen. He closed all the programs he had open. The process soothed him a little, it was like uncluttering his mind. When the screen was clear, John put the computer to sleep. It could only be woken by a password, which only the members of International Rescue knew. Even if the Chinese were to capture the station, they would never have access to the secrets of International Rescue.

When that was done, John turned away from the monitor. He looked over his station. As an institution with almost inexhaustible resources, International Rescue had ensured Thunderbird 5 was more comfortably outfitted than any other space station. However, the station was woefully unequipped for repelling invaders. Thunderbird 5 was a radio monitoring station, with a single occupant. It was designed to avoid detection.

Every precaution was taken to prevent the discovery of Thunderbird 5's orbit. International Rescue had several relay stations, monitored and maintained by various government space agencies. These stations bounced around the radio signal from Thunderbird 5 so that the signal could not be used to track Thunderbird 5.

International Rescue also never expected an approaching vessel would be hostile toward Thunderbird 5. The whole point of the organisation was to save people, to avoid violence and death.

However, John did have the advantage over the Chinese astronauts. Thunderbird 5 was his station and he knew it backwards. He was familiar with every aspect of every module. The Chinese would be unfamiliar with the craft.

A soft green glow permeated the station, indicating the docking was taking place. John had about less than a minute before the Chinese astronauts would be upon him. He snatched his gun from the console and then switched the gravity off. Each module of the station had its own gravity generator. John hoped that alternating between full gravity and microgravity would disorient the Chinese astronauts. John turned toward the nearest hatch, turning slower as the gravity slowly dropped.

John tried to stick his feet to the floor but missed, the impact sending him spinning into a backflip. Panic surged, but as John aligned with the hatch, he pushed off against the console powerfully with his legs. He launched across the space and collided with the hatch. He pulled the hatch open and slung himself through, his momentum closing the hatch behind him. When John oriented himself, he looked around at the module he had chosen. His heart rose. He had chosen the resource storage module. Everything was kept in here, from the emergency oxygen and nitrogen tanks to the server box and all the other computer equipment and even the batteries which powered the station. Perhaps the Chinese Astronauts would be less likely to cause violence in this module.

John pulled himself along the walls, grabbing handholds. He heaved himself to a stop in front of the console for this module and planted his feet on the ground. He switched the gravity on, and his stomach sank. John was vaguely aware that switching between full gravity and microgravity as frequently and as suddenly as he had done over the past few hours was probably unhealthy.

The lights on the station flashed green intermittently, meaning the _Wolf-Spider_ was securely docked to Thunderbird 5. Since the pressure in the _Wolf-Spider _was likely at one atmosphere, equal to that of Thunderbird 5, the hatch between the two craft would be opened immediately, with no need to equalise the craft.

The Chinese astronauts burst out of their craft, tumbling to the floor of the Emergency Medical Bay. The gravity was permanently on in this section, better for treating any injured astronauts. John watched this happen on his screen. There were two Chinese astronauts, wearing slick black flight jumpsuits, complete with soft-soled shoes. They wore full face masks, with tubes running to compact tanks on their back. This was equipment designed for short spans in vacuum. Obviously, the Chinese had taken no chances. They had come prepared for a fight. This was also evidenced by the weapons they cradled. John's handgun felt woefully inadequate when compared to the futuristic QBZ-95 assault rifles. John noted they also had handguns similar to his strapped to their thighs.

The astronauts stood uncertainly, not expecting the gravity, and not entirely trusting it. They exchanged a glance, and brought their rifles up, nestling them into their shoulders and crouching slightly. John felt panic rising. These were professional special-forces operatives. They quickly took in all the details of the room.

Thunderbird 5 was laid out in such a way that the communication module was in the middle, and the others formed a ring around the outside. This way, John had instant access to the communication module from every other module, should a rescue call come in. Thus, the Chinese astronauts were faced with three hatches; one leading into the middle, and the other two at either end of the module. John was a few modules further around the ring.

The Chinese astronauts quickly weighed their options, and decided that one of the hatches at the end of the module was their best tactical choice. They obviously did not want to get caught in the central module, where they could be attacked from any direction. They just so happened to choose the hatch which would lead them on the shortest path to John. There was one more module between him and them; the science module. When International Rescue decided to launch their own space station, they approached various scientific institutes and asked if they would like any experiments to be conducted on Thunderbird 5. There were a variety of plants growing and other long term studies quietly brewing. The gravity in this module was permanently off.

One of the Chinese astronauts gestured to the hatch, and the other slipped his rifle over his back, the rifle adhering to the astronaut's tank. In the back of John's mind, he realised there must be magnets in the gun and the tank. The Astronaut stalked to the hatch, pressing himself to the wall of the module. The first astronaut crouched, and aimed at the middle of the hatch. The second twisted the handle of the hatch, unlocking it. The first nodded, aiming down the sights of his weapon, and the second ripped the hatch open. Both tensed for a few seconds, waiting. Finding no-one, the second unslung his gun and aimed it back down the module at the other hatch. The first stood and crept forward, into the science module. When he crossed through the hatch, gravity stopped effecting him. He tried to step forward, but the motion sent him spinning into the module.

Panicked, the astronaut flailed wildly, releasing his rifle, trying to catch anything to stop his drift. His hand bashed against a rack of pots with different types of grass growing in them. The impact sent a little loose dirt flying, clouding the air and further confusing the astronaut. The sight would have been amusing, if not for the intense danger the man presented to John.

The other astronaut looked over his shoulder to see his comrade floating helplessly in the middle of the module. The man tilted his head, confused. However, he quickly adapted and stepped carefully into the science module. Floating freely, he slung the gun onto his back. He grabbed the bar running down the side of the hatch, and pulled himself close to the wall. The astronaut pushed powerfully against the wall and shot through the module, scooping up his comrade's rifle on the way. He collided with the other astronaut, grabbing onto him.

No longer spinning out of control, the first astronaut was able to grab a handhold. The second astronaut impacted on the far wall, collapsing to cushion the blow. He grabbed onto the bar running the length of the hatch. Bracing against the hatch, he propelled the rifle he had picked up back to his comrade, and drew his handgun. The other astronaut found a Velcro patch on the floor and stuck himself to it. He drew his rifle and aimed it at the hatch.

John saw this happen. He looked at the hatch. He looked around him, at the module. It was one of the least spacious, with various containers jutting into the walkway. He crouched behind one of the containers, handgun drawn in ludicrous optimism.

John had turned away from the screen, so he did not see the Chinese astronauts nod to one another. He did not see one of them unwind the release mechanism on the hatch. He did not see the astronaut propel himself from the wall, holding onto the door so that his motion would open the hatch. He _did_ hear the hatch thunk open.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey guys. Last Chapter ( XD or :'( as preffered). Longer note to follow. Hope you enjoy.**

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Silence hung in the air. It stretched for an eternity. It struck John that the situation was just as tense for the Chinese astronauts. They did not know how many staff International Rescue posted on Thunderbird 5, nor how what weapons they had. John leaned around his box for a moment. He saw the second Chinese astronaut, stuck by Velcro to the floor, aiming his rifle. Too late John realised his mistake, and a huge force smashed into his right shoulder, throwing him backwards. John had the sense to roll behind his box. John grimaced; the impact with the floor was excruciating.

John had dropped his handgun, and reached for it with his right arm. As he shifted his shoulder, it seemed to light on fire. John snarled, cradling his right arm. The Chinese astronauts were also apparently using hollow point rounds. The bullet had expanded inside John's shoulder and totally wrecked the joint. The bones were smashed, muscles torn, and the bullet still inside. John would no longer be able to use his right arm. Blood stained his blue uniform.

John rotated so that his back was to the wall and his left side was toward the hatch to the science module. He crouched and scooped up his handgun with his left hand. The weapon felt wrong in his left hand. It felt even heavier than usual.

Unseen by John, the second Chinese astronaut holstered his rifle, and with the first aiming his handgun through the hatch at the box John was hiding behind, launched himself toward the open hatch. As soon as he passed through the hatch, he crashed to the floor, landing heavily. The other Astronaut oriented himself correctly and passed through more carefully, having seen his comrade's entrance.

John did not hear the other astronaut, only the one who fell. He stepped out into the middle of the module, fully visible. His arm was already raised, and he started to depress the trigger. The standing Chinese astronaut was faster, and a bullet impacted into John's ribcage. John instinctively bowed over slightly. The motion threw off his already bad aim. It was too late to stop the shot, though, and the bullet impacted into a cylindrical tank.

A few inches to the right was an oxygen tank. If the bullet had hit that, the resultant explosion would have vaporised the two Chinese astronauts and punched a hole the size of a dinner table in the outer wall of the module.

Instead, the tank was filled with non-flammable nitrogen gas. However, the tank was kept at significant pressure, to be able to store more nitrogen. The gas burst from the tank, tearing a gash in the side of the tank. The force of the exiting gas was explosive, and hurled both Chinese astronauts into the opposite wall of the module. John, further away, was only thrown to the floor. His head hit the floor with a snap, and his vision blurred. A soft blackness crept into the edges of John's vision. John knew that if he slipped into unconsciousness, he would not wake up.

John forced himself to rise to his knees. His right hand pressed hard to the bullet wound in the left of his ribcage and his left arm cradled his right. He could hear himself breathing, although it was muted, and sounded far away. John realised the tank rupture had probably damaged his hearing. He did not have the time to worry about that now. He shuffled painfully toward the Chinese astronauts, who were lying very still on the floor.

John reached the first. John saw that the man was still breathing. John painfully rolled the man into the recovery position on his side. Breathlessly, John looked up to see the other astronaut moving woozily. John looked around hurriedly, and saw what he wanted. All manner of items had been thrown loose by the explosion, and a roll of duct tape had landed a few feet away. Thunderbird 5 always carried dozens of rolls of duct tape; its uses were limitless. John scuttled toward the tape, scooping it up.

John's hearing returned in a rush, and his ears were assaulted by blaring alarms. John also noticed the lights were glowing a soft red, bathing the module in a bloody glow.

John turned back to the other astronaut to see the man was rising more purposefully. He slipped the mask off his face, and Jon was shocked by how young the Chinese man was. The young man looked in distress down at his belly. A shard of metal from the nitrogen tank was protruding several inches. A stain spread outward from the shrapnel, darkening the already black material. John started to approach the young man, but the astronaut pulled his rifle off his back, aiming one handed at John.

John raised his left hand, though he kept his grip on the duct tape. His right hand he kept pressed to the bullet wound. The Chinese astronaut screwed up his face in pain, and John saw pinpricks of sweat coalesce into beads. The man grunted. John growled.

"Let me help you," he barked at the man, "I can help you, let me help!"

The astronaut sighed, a sick, wet sigh. He looked at John, and in that moment, John knew that nothing could help the man. John lowered his hand, and the man lowered his gun. He spoke in heavily accented English.

"We were launching a nuclear drop site."

Joh was stunned. The Chinese, deploying nuclear weapons in space?

"A contingency…"

The man coughed, and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

"We jammed all the radio signals in this region of space except the one we used to talk to ground control."

John's mind raced. That was why he couldn't talk to Tracy Island. The other radio signals he could receive because they came from all the relay stations, the multiple sources meant that the signals were stronger than the jamming equipment. Tracy Island, however, transmitted directly to Thunderbird 5 and vice-versa.

John approached the Chinese astronaut. He knelt opposite the man, who was struggling to breathe. John looked the man in the eye. The look had no malice. John's eyes were clear and calm. The Chinese man looked back at John. He stared at John's unblinking eyes, wondering at the many shades of blue. The man exhaled, a great heaving sigh, and lay still. John looked away from the man's eyes as a tear crept into his own.

The other Chinese astronaut was still unconscious. John was reasonably sure that unconsciousness was the only injury the man had sustained. John stripped off his shirt. The shoulder and upper abdomen were crusted with a layer of blood. John bound his ribcage with duct tape. He struggled to breath, but he was no longer bleeding, from his ribcage at least. He then bound the hands of the unconscious Chinese astronaut.

John opened the hatch to the central communication module. He threw himself toward the console and caught himself, left handed. He quieted all the alarms, stopped all the flashing and pulsing lights. Then he noticed one more. A green one, labelled _Thunderbird 3 Approach._ John sobbed. All the tension and stress of the last few days left his body. All of the adrenaline and panic floated away, wheeling and spinning in the microgravity. Thunderbird 3 had launched, as scheduled, concerned with John's silence. A miscalculation on the part of Alan had delayed Thunderbird 3.

John rebooted the computer system, and opened the outer hatch to the docking assembly. Thunderbird 3 would now be able to dock with Thunderbird 5.

John was going home.


End file.
